


flame red

by Mertiya



Series: Fire Emblem Missing Scenes [6]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Sex, Everything's gotta be a competition doesn't it, Explicit Consent, Ferdy tops, First Time, Hubert is mildly manipulative, M/M, Mild Dysphoria, Strap-Ons, Trans Male Character, but not in a way that Ferdy minds, say my name, trans Ferdinand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-25 16:44:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20727473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mertiya/pseuds/Mertiya
Summary: Ferdinand and Hubert get into a bit of a competition. Or what happens after a shared cup of tea and coffee.





	flame red

When did Ferdinand stop hating Hubert? He’s not sure; the only moment he can actually pinpoint is the moment when he watched Edelgard’s closest advisor blush like a schoolboy as he offered a gift of tea in exchange for Ferdinand’s gift of coffee. But he knows that wasn’t it. That is only the moment when his heart soared and he realized just how much Hubert _did_ mean to him. The first inkling—he thinks the first inkling of what was to come may have been five years ago, when he was laid up in the infirmary with Manuela breathing down the back of his neck if he so much as twitched. Hubert came by and gave him a speech that was one part supercilious condescension and one part flatly mocking about being on the battlefield before he was fully healed—and did not at any point ask about the surgery itself or what it had been for.

Now Ferdinand looks across the table and sees Hubert sipping at his steaming cup of coffee, eyes shut, dark hair flopping over his eyes in a way that is supposed to be intimidating—Ferdinand _knows_ it’s supposed to be intimidating, and probably to most people it is, but to him it just feels endearing. He can’t stop himself—he reaches across the table and brushes his fingers across Hubert’s knuckles. Hubert’s dark eyes snap open immediately, giving him a questioning look, and Ferdinand finds that he’s blushing.

“Ah—I’m sorry to disturb you,” he murmurs.

Hubert’s gaze flickers down his form. “I used to fantasize about throttling you,” he says abruptly, and Ferdinand coughs and chokes and is suddenly glad he wasn’t taking a sip of his tea at that point, because choking on burning hot tea would be much more unpleasant than choking on spit, if perhaps a little less embarrassing. Hubert’s smile darkens a touch, and he leans forward, though he doesn’t speak again until Ferdinand stammers, “I suppose I am quite loud.”

“Very,” Hubert agrees, with another sip of his coffee.

“Thank you for not wanting to throttle me anymore,” Ferdinand ventures, absurdly, even though he’s not at all sure he would object. Under certain circumstances.

“Well, I imagine you’d have a hard time screaming my name if you had no air,” Hubert says in a matter-of-fact tone, and _oh_, foolish Ferdinand—he’s dropped his cup of tea.

Hubert’s long-fingered hand reaches out and catches the cup just before it can fall to the floor and shatter on the unforgiving tiles. “Really, Ferdinand, you must be more careful,” he drawls, and he looks up, eyes dilated but a little questioning.

Swallowing carefully, Ferdinand takes the cup back and sets it down squarely, buying himself a little time that he doesn’t really need because he’s already got a response burning in his chest, ready to spill out between his lips. “Bold of you to assume you wouldn’t be screaming ‘Ferdinand von Aegir’ before I got to that point,” he says steadily.

There’s a minute lessening of tension in Hubert’s shoulders, and he smiles. “I should have known that you would issue a challenge. Very well. I accept.”

“Good.” Ferdinand gets to his feet and leans across the table, tipping Hubert’s face up to his so that he kiss him.

~

After a somewhat heated argument, they end up in Ferdinand’s room, since it’s closer. As soon as the door shuts behind them, they’re on top of one another, Hubert practically ripping at Ferdinand’s shirt. Under other circumstances, Ferdinand might object, but as it is he decides he can sacrifice one shirt and applies himself to sucking on Hubert’s throat, which doesn’t get Hubert screaming his name but definitely gets out some pleasantly exciting grunts and one noise that’s suspiciously close to a whimper when he nips at the already-sensitive area.

“Damn you,” Hubert murmurs, and he forces Ferdinand’s head up, kissing him full on the mouth. Ferdinand moans against him, staggering backward to get the wall at his back, fisting his hands in Hubert’s stupid “look at me I’m an evil warlock” cloak, and Hubert responds by twisting both hands in Ferdinand’s long hair. Ferdinand’s breath stutters, and he presses the entire front of his body against Hubert, feeling Hubert’s erection straining against the front of his trousers, pressing against where Ferdinand’s—should be.

This was going to happen sooner or later, Ferdinand supposes. He breaks the kiss and hopes that bravado will be enough to keep this going smoothly. “Just a moment, I need to get my cock.”

If Hubert thinks this statement is odd, he doesn’t show it, just steps aside as Ferdinand beelines directly for his chest-of-drawers. He still feels lucky he was able to get this—Manuela helped him find an artisan who would be discreet. Although after his near-death incident presumably a number of the Black Eagles students had some inkling of the truth, none of them had ever asked, and none of them had ever treated him differently, something for which Ferdinand was still thankful.

He drops his trousers with all the aplomb he can muster and pulls the contraption out of his bottom drawer, stepping into the harness, then turns back to Hubert, who is watching imperturbably. “Ready?” he asks, and Ferdinand feels something tight in his chest abruptly loosening, but he still has to fight with a frustrating dissidence as he walks back across the room.

“So you are not…” the words trail away as he looks at Hubert, who smirks at him and then reaches out to tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You are FERDINAND VON AEGIR, are you not?” he asks. “Or have I won this challenge already?”

A wide grin spreads across Ferdinand’s face as he pushes Hubert against the wall and kisses him hard. “I am, indeed, Ferdinand von Aegir, and careful or I’ll count that as screaming my name.”

“Cheating? I like that,” Hubert murmurs, yanking off the remains of Ferdinand’s shirt so that Ferdinand is naked in front of him. This puts Ferdinand at an unfortunate disadvantage that he immediately starts working to remedy, unhooking Hubert’s infernal cloak and then divesting him of his shirt and trousers. Soon enough, with both of them naked, he looks over to the bed.

They fall on top of it, warm skin pressed to warm skin, rolling over and over in a way that’s half-wrestling, half-kissing. Ferdinand is the stronger, but as soon as he pins Hubert, he finds that the other man is regarding him with a strange eye again, and he feels himself flushing, suddenly uncertain again, as he realizes Hubert’s eyes are fixed on his chest.

“You are such a desperately stupid man,” Hubert tells him, running a thumb over the clumsy, knotted scar tissue that outlines Ferdinand’s chest. “You know if Linhardt hadn’t been there, you would have died.”

“Ah, but I didn’t!” Ferdinand retorts, relief making him giddy. “Instead I bear the _valiant_ scars of a battle well-fought!”

Hubert snorts, leaning up against Ferdinand’s grasp to lick a stripe down the center of his chest, which makes him gasp and shudder. “It’s not valiant if it’s unnecessary,” he replies, raising one dark, sardonic eyebrow. He runs a hand down Ferdinand’s inner thigh, and Ferdinand’s groaning again. He wants to see what Hubert looks like with something inside him. His belly clenches at the thought, and he’s kissing Hubert again, one finger playing around the edge of Hubert’s entrance.

The other man makes a soft, needy sound that Ferdinand would never have thought to hear from him. “Stop being hesitant, Von Aegir,” he snarls, and there’s a flush rising on his cheeks, not unlike the beautiful maidenly blush he gave when they were exchanging tea and coffee.

“Afraid if you say my full name you’ll scream it?” Ferdinand asks with satisfaction, then clumsily squirms along the bed to find his bottle of ointment. Hubert snatches it from his hand with an oath, and, before Ferdinand can decide what to do next, he’s already coated his hand with it and plunged two fingers inside himself, rocking his hips up as he does so, cock twitching.

He looks so desperately beautiful like that, with a red flush dotted his bare chest and his usually immobile face cracking open that Ferdinand rocks against his heel and sobs a little. Then he tumbles forward, landing with one hand on either side of Hubert’s head, and they’re kissing again, and Ferdinand doesn’t even care that it tastes like coffee.

Hubert’s hands seek Ferdinand’s thighs, pulling him down roughly, and Ferdinand reaches down to guide himself inside. It slips inside easily enough, and he moans as he feels it jar against something inside _him_, and at the sight of Hubert’s screwed-up face, turning sideways, biting his lips to keep the words inside. Grinning, Ferdinand reaches down and strokes Hubert’s cock as he begins to rock his hips.

It feels so good, watching Hubert come apart, feeling the impact of his hips sending shooting heat through Ferdinand’s whole body. Ferdinand’s breath is sobbing in his lungs, and he’s already pretty sure he’s getting close. He wants to kiss Hubert, he _needs_ to kiss Hubert, and he folds himself halfway over so that he can do just that. Hubert sobs into his mouth, apparently incoherent, and his nails rake over Ferdinand’s back.

“Oh_, fuck_,” falls out of Ferdinand’s mouth. “_Hub_—” He cuts it off but Hubert’s eyes have already snapped open, and he’s grinning evilly.

“What was that?” he asks, and he barely even sounds breathless even as he continues to fuck himself back against Ferdinand.

Well—never mind. There’s always next time. “Hubert,” Ferdinand laughs, breathless, snapping his hips forward again, and he’s trembling. He leans forward again, until his breath is tickling Hubert’s ear, and he whispers clearly, “_Hubert von Vestra_,” punctuating the name with another thrust.

Hubert comes against his stomach with a cry, spilling sticky fluid across both of them. Ferdinand pulls out, grinning smugly, and flops down next to him, although his entire body is still tingling, and he’s so _close_, and he _needs_—

Rolling sideways, Hubert tangles their legs together and draws one hand slowly through Ferdinand’s hair, nuzzling his ear as he does so. “I have always loved your hair,” he murmurs, and his other hand slips between Ferdinand’s legs. “It’s just like you, all flame and light,” and just like that Ferdinand is shivering into the wave of rolling heat that is his own orgasm.

They lie together, legs tangled, Hubert still combing his fingers gently through Ferdinand’s hair.

“Next time, you’ll see, _next_ time, I will be victorious,” Ferdinand murmurs sleepily as Hubert kisses him on the cheek, gentler than he’d thought Hubert could ever be.

“And next time, I will finally live out my fantasies of choking you until you can’t speak,” Hubert returns casually, pressing two fingers against Ferdinand’s lips.

“I look forward to it,” Ferdinand murmurs, and Hubert chuckles in response. “My dark magician.”

“My fiery cavalier,” Hubert returns. The last thing Ferdinand hears before sleep claims him is Hubert saying, “_Ferdinand von Aegir._”


End file.
